


Lost and Found

by cumberqueer (chemma66)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemma66/pseuds/cumberqueer
Summary: In which John Watson takes a cab home and Sherlock Holmes steals said cab.





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> In an effort to get rid of the half-finished works sitting in my drafts, here is a one-shot I started ages ago.
> 
> Not beta'd and barely edited - feel free to let me know any spelling errors and such in the comments.

John made his way down the busy London street, dodging folks rushing to their destinations or on their phones, neither paying him much mind. He frowned as he maneuvered around a large group of oblivious tourists and made his way toward a clearer bit of sidewalk. He had tried fruitlessly to hail a cab on the last block and hoped he’d have more luck here on the main road. 

Stepping to the curb, he raised his hand and grimaced into the headlights of the onslaught of cars traveling in his direction. 

He waited, trying not to feel ashamed when taxis simply passed him by. He tried not to think about his bland appearance and his below average height. He tried not to think about his plain clothes and the way he easily blended into the crowd. He tried not to think about the ache in his leg or the cane in his hand.

Nothing ever happened to him.

John was just about to completely give up hope when, finally, a cab pulled up to his side to unload a passenger. He breathed a sigh of relief as he caught the door, sliding into the warmth and relative comfort just as a light rain began to dot the windshield.

John gave the cab driver his address even as the thought of returning to his horrid bedsit turned his mood more sour. He could use a walk, as much time away from grey walls and empty spaces as possible; the rain outside and ache in his leg had unfortunately solidified his plans to stay inside. 

Instead he’d be spending the evening staring at his computer, overly aware of the contents of his side drawer and wondering why Ella had ever thought that a blog would be a successful form of therapy for him. It merely served as constant reminder that the significant events of his life were in the past, and most not fit to print. It sunk John further into despair and loneliness, embarrassed that he had fought physical and mental battles of so many kinds and won, but against himself, he was losing. It was infuriating. 

The cab pulled into traffic as John pressed his head against the window, watching the cars as they passed and tracking their slow movement of through the streets. The buildings and shops around him blurred together, broken up by the people wandering in and out of their doors. John watched them and wondered what it was like to not only have a home, but have someone to go home to: a friend to care for, a family to support, a lover to hold…

John was literally jolted from his melancholy inner monologue when, as the cab idled at a red light, the far door was suddenly wrenched open. John looked over in complete shock as a tall, dark-coated stranger suddenly appeared, studying John and the cabbie intensely. 

After just a few seconds, the stranger took a seat in the cab just in time for the light to turn green. The cab jolted forward as the door closed behind the stranger, finally drawing the attention of the cabbie.

John watched in stunned silence as the cab driver looked, then turned for a moment, checked John in the rearview, glanced at the stranger, and then focused back on the road before him.

It was then that the stranger finally spoke, already buried in the phone he held in front of him.

“Lauriston Gardens, please. Quickly,” the man said. John scoffed at the location that was clear across London from his destination.

John waited, expecting the cab driver to say something, anything to address the situation. But the cabbie didn’t kick him out, didn’t offer any resistance whatsoever to this posh arsehole. He simply drove on.

“Hey!” John shouted, flailing his hand in the general direction of his presence. “I’m not actually invisible, right? What the fuck is going on.”

The cab driver just shrugged while the man sitting next to John continued to text. The traffic had finally broken and the cab picked up speed, taking John further from where he intended to be.

“So sorry to bother but in case you hadn’t seen, this cab was already taken,” John practically growled, turning toward the stranger.

That earned him acknowledgement, at least. Two quicksilver eyes snapped up to regard him, flicking over his form quickly. As soon as they were there, they disappeared again under a thick mop of curls.

“Right,” the man said. He continued typing. The driving continued driving. John was going mad.

“Are you going to do anything?” John asked, tapping on the partition.

“About what?” The driver glanced back at him through the mirror.

“This— this man, he’s just jumped into the cab. And both of you have completely ignored the fact that I am sitting. Right. Here.” 

“You want me to pull over so you can get out?” The driver asked.

“You’re bloody joking!” John shouted. He looked over at the man in the dark coat once more, and he could’ve sworn he was smirking.

“This is some comedy show, yeah? Someone will turn the mirror around and reveal a camera at any moment,” John said, crossing his arms over his chest. As if on cue, the rain outside became heavier, pelting the windshield and threatening to drown out John’s voice.

“Listen, mate,” the cabbie began, “He’s obviously better off than you, alright? Just bein’ honest. I can tell from his coat and clothes that he’s loaded. And if I pull over, chances are he’s not getting out in this to find another cab,” the stranger shook his head to support this point, still texting. “I need his tip more, so I can’t kick ‘im out. And he’s already in, so…” he trailed off.

“And I’m just supposed to, what?” John asked.

“Well, like I said. I can pull over if you want out, otherwise,” the cabbie shrugged again. “You might as well ride with us.” 

John looked over at the new passenger, but apparently he had nothing to add.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever… this is ridiculous,” John said. And he honestly felt like laughing.

Silence followed for a few more minutes, John fuming in his anger, the stranger occupied with his phone, and the driver completely ignoring the entire situation. The cab continued on its route.

“You should at least drop me at mine first,” John said, already expecting the rebuttal.

“No, that won’t work,” the stranger answered, looking up at John once more. “Diverting our course will inevitably lead us back into traffic. I’m already late, and a few more minutes could be the difference between a vital piece of evidence, not to mention Anderson is at the scene.”

John regarded him with a strange look.

“I have no idea what that means,” John replied. “Who is Anderson?”

The man waved a hand, making a few more taps of his phone. Finally, he slipped it into his pocket.

“We’re nearly there, anyway,” he said, looking out of the window.

“Yes, and I’ll have to fight to get another cab. Again. In the rain,” John grimaced, gripping his leg as though the thought alone would dissipate the pain, like it did to summon the same.

The stranger looked at him again, eyes skipping over his grip on his leg. John looked away, out toward the windshield as they approached what looked like a massive crime scene. The rain distorted the lights as they approached, splashing the car with blues and reds as John squinted against the glare, pretending not to feel the strangers gaze still on him.

“No,” the stranger said, finally speaking. “I’ll fetch you another cab, if you agree to assist me. I’ll even pay,” the man said, a smirk alighting his face.

“You— what?” John said.

“We’re here,” the driver said, pulling up to the side of the street in front of the taped-off barrier.

“Wait,” John said, watching as the stranger started to get out. What was even going on?

“You’re an army doctor,” the stranger said, voice lower than should’ve been possible as they leaned back into the shelter of the cab. “You’re very good, in fact, and unfortunately you’ve found yourself in a bind on a rainy day in London.”

John was stunned into silence once more, gaping at the stranger.

“How did you know I was an army doctor? And what do you—“ John said, sliding over to better hear now that the rain and city sounds were competing for attention.

And then those eyes were directed down at John, along with the full force of the stranger's attention, and all thoughts promptly fled from his brain.

“You’re an army doctor, recently home from overseas. You were injured there, originally in your shoulder, but have developed a psychosomatic limp in your left leg. You see a therapist, but she’s dreadful. You don’t trust her, anyway. You’re unemployed despite attempts at job interviews, the most recent this—“

“Oi!” the driver shouted “Either in or out, lads. Or that fare’ll go up.”

John looked over at the driver, then back at the door as he quickly weighed his options. He knew he wouldn’t have enough cash to get him back to his bedsit now. They’d gone clear past, and with the traffic and the rain…

John pulled himself out of the cab, knocking the stranger slightly out of the way as he stepped onto the curb. He slammed the door closed behind him, and waited as the stranger paid the driver, rolling his eyes at what was no doubt a large tip.

The stranger turned, addressing John with a far too smug look.

“Joining me, then?”

“Well, I don’t have a bloody choice, now do I? You’ve stolen the only cab I managed to wrangle on this ‘rainy London day,’” John said, doing his poshest accent for the last bit. “And made it impossible for me to get home. You probably know how much I have in my wallet just by looking at me.”

“Not enough,” the stranger answered.

“Right,” John said, trying not to be embarrassed in front of the (gorgeous, rich) madman who had stolen his cab and put John in his current predicament.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the stranger said, offering his hand.

John ignored it, walking around him and toward the block of houses to their right.

“John Watson. Where are we? Aren’t you in a hurry?” John said as he walked. “Are you even going to tell me what I need to do to before I get my ride home?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, long legs overtaking John’s stride as he took the lead.

Sherlock took them to the home that was marked off with police tape and swiftly ducked under the barrier, holding it up for John as he reluctantly followed. 

“Sherlock, what the hell,” John said under his breath, not trying to draw much attention to the civilians in the crime scene. Sherlock said nothing and proceeded to the front door.

A tall woman with dark, curly hair and a reflective NSY vest met them as they got closer.

“Freak. Who is this?” She asked, apparently addressing Sherlock as she looked John over. 

“John Watson. He’s with me,” Sherlock explained.

“How did you—“ she began.

“Wait just a minute,” John said, holding his hand up between them. 

Sherlock had the decency to stop walking as well, and the woman looked at him in surprise.

“How does she know you? Why are we even here? Did you kidnap me to bring me to a crime scene?” John asked.

“Kidnapped?” The woman asked, but Sherlock ignored her to focus on John once more.

“Three murders, all linked by one weapon. Different locations, no other obvious connections. This scene is the first we’ve found within hours of the murder. As a doctor and an army surgeon, and a good one at that, your assistance tonight could be vital to catching the killer, John. The cab was an excellent coincidence. And there’s something I always say about coincidences—“ Sherlock began.

“Stop. Just… stop for a moment,” John said, holding his hand in front of Sherlock’s stupid gorgeous face.

Sherlock looked disgruntled, but didn’t continue.

“Who are you?” John asked.

“I’m a consulting detective. I help the police when they’re out of their depth, which is often,” Sherlock answered, ignoring the woman’s scoff as he stepped closer to John. “I assist in solving crimes, John, and I need your help to solve this one,” he said, his gaze immediately turned pleading.

John sighed, taking his time to consider. He took a breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth in a harsh gust. He focused on how he was feeling: a little agitated, but not in any apparent danger. There was always a risk, though. He looked around at the unfamiliar faces awaiting his answer, the flashing lights playing across their faces. He looked at Sherlock for a long moment, then down at the ground again. The rain was turning the sidewalk a dark, drab grey; it reminded John of the walls of his bedsit. He thought about how dark it would be there now, the sounds of the city muted by the rain pelting his bare windows.

“Right. I want it to be known now,” John said, looking up at the woman who seemed to observing their exchange with a strange mix of amusement and impatience. “That the only reason I’m walking into this house is because there are obviously police nearby, and I’m quite sure this madman,” John said as he gestured to Sherlock, “wouldn’t murder me here.”

Sherlock smiled, and to John’s surprise, he actually wanted to return it.

“With this one, nothing is for sure,” the woman answered, grudgingly stepping aside. “There’s witnesses at least.”

Sherlock ignored her, ushering John toward the door.

“The scene is just upstairs, John. I’ll need you to examine the body and tell me what you see.”

“Body. Of course,” John said, shaking his head. Regardless, he entered the house and began climbing the set of stars just inside. 

“Nice colleague you’ve got there, freak,” Sally said, catching Sherlock midstep.

“Flatmate, actually,” Sherlock said, looking after John’s figure as he ascended the stairs out of earshot.

“Flatmate? But didn’t you two just meet?” Sally asked.

“Well, yes. I still have to ask him, but we shared a cab,” Sherlock answered, waving his hand as though that explained it all.

“What makes you think he’d share a flat with you, then?” She said with blatant disbelief.

“His cane,” Sherlock said with a smirk. “He left it in the cab.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always, always appreciated. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Here's to hoping I keep this up and post more soon. Take care <3


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